


Sinking

by MrMcLemons



Series: Rotten Fruit - A Collection of Far Cry Stories [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Dream Sex, Dry Humping, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Forced Marriage, Hallucinations, Heavy dialogue, Joseph Seed is obsessed, Kissing, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murphy is Deputy-Esque if you squint, Murphy is Eden's Gate's "Mother", Murphy is a medic, Murphy is also emotionally compromised, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Sex, Other, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 21:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17670527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMcLemons/pseuds/MrMcLemons
Summary: Adriel Murphy just wanted a vacation away from med-school. After seven years she's unsure she can finish, but upon traveling to her late parents' estate in Hope County Montana she discovers that it's gone to ruins at the hand of a fanatical cult called Eden's Gate. Buckling up with her old friend Clark Kennedy from many summer's past, Murphy uses her med-schooling to patch up the Resistance so they can reclaim control from the tyrannical Seed Brothers. Unfortunately, when Murphy goes out onto a limb to heal one of Eden's Gate own, she becomes the center of the infamous Joseph Seed's obsession. When his visions lead him to her, he will stop at nothing to make sure she is by his side.(PS this ^ is the intro. I start this story right in the middle of the meaty stuff. First few chapters are short but they will only get longer).





	1. Bleeding Truths

**Author's Note:**

> Adriel Murphy just wanted a vacation away from med-school. After seven years she's unsure she can finish, but upon traveling to her late parents' estate in Hope County Montana she discovers that it's gone to ruins at the hand of a fanatical cult called Eden's Gate. Buckling up with her old friend Clark Kennedy from many summer's past, Murphy uses her med-schooling to patch up the Resistance so they can reclaim control from the tyrannical Seed Brothers. Unfortunately, when Murphy goes out onto a limb to heal one of Eden's Gate own, she becomes the center of the infamous Joseph Seed's obsession. When his visions lead him to her, he will stop at nothing to make sure she is by his side.
> 
> (PS this ^ is the intro. I start this story right in the middle of the meaty stuff. First few chapters are short but they will only get longer).
> 
> This story is literally me just wanting to fuck Joseph Seed but also loving tension between opposite sides.

 

_“Jeeeeeesus Christ. Stop moving, buddy, you’re just gonna make it worse.”_

_“Holy God that’s a lot of blood.”_

_“What’d you expect? Guy’s been shot. Now shuddup before you put him into shock.”_

_“Is that how shock works?”_

_“Do you want to deal with him, either way? Yeah, didn’t think so. Hand me some alcohol. No – not **that** alcohol, the medical kind. Jesus.”_

_“Sorry. Wait. Fucking hell, this dude’s a Peggie?”_

_“Yeah. And?”_

 

 

 

The room is basking in dying light; that kind of putrid yellow color created after years of rotting in the dark. It buzzes loudly, shakes slightly at cars run over it and sounds like bees rattling and buzzing. The fluorescent shine glares off the blue and white blanketed walls, contagious with the scent of disinfectant, bleach, and sterilization.

A doctor flits around with his sleeves rolled up and stethoscope hanging from his pocket, otherwise calm appearance betrayed by the haphazard way his hair flips around with sweat. He’s talking to the woman beside the bed, her hand framed in the sallow skin of a nearly unmoving body atop the gurney. Like the room he also smells clean and dons white.

“He’ll be OK, won’t he, doctor?”

This is probably the fifteenth time she’s asked, and the doctor offers the same response. “He’ll be fine. A little rest and some more fluids and your wedding should be on in two weeks, as planned.”

“We can still have the wedding, then?”

The doctor sighs at this, not impatiently. “As planned.”

The conversations disperses and the buzzing returns. Doctor Price hates how the buzzing consumes the room when nothing else is happening. Even as she strains for prayer beneath her breath like her soon-to-be-husband is dying, he can only focus on the waspish sounds around him.

Suddenly the door opens, revealing a lithe form dressed immaculately in a white button up and a black vest, yellow shades adorned gloriously on his face even though the sun is far out of sight. The doctor exhales in a dual sense of apprehension and relief, the same two emotions he always felt warring within him whenever in the presence of Joseph Seed.

“Father,” Price greets, offering the godly man a bow of his head in recognition.

The woman, pressed by Joseph Seed’s presence, lets go of her fiancé’s hand and embraces the father like he is kin. He kindly hugs her back, his lips finding a place on her forehead as she hums happily.

“How is he, doctor?”

Joseph Seed’s voice always manages to stump price for a moment. Its smooth and deep, controlled and almost ethereal in the way it rolls around you and rings you in. The doctor fiddles with his stethoscope as he goes to the patient’s side. “Arnold should be fine within two weeks, his recovery is… honestly, not in much due part to myself. Had whoever found him not treated him, I’m unsure he would make such a healthy recovery. Thankfully they seem to have known what they’re doing, which leads me to believe Arnold will be back full circle in no time.”

The woman tugs happily on the Father’s sleeve, her grin angelic and detached. “He says we can be married in two weeks, Father! It’s a miracle.”

“A miracle, indeed, my child.” He smiles kindly at her before his gaze returned to the doctor, his hand caressing her shoulder. “This… miracle worker who saved young Arnold, what do we know thus far about them?”

“Firstly I can tell, whoever they are, that they’re medically experienced, or at least knowledgeable enough to know how to deal with such an experience. Which, uh, leads me to my next point, I forgot to give you this when he first arrived…” Price reaches into his pocket, retrieving a crumbled piece of paper with blood on it. Joseph releases the woman as he takes it and gently unfolds the contents. “I found it tucked into his hand, which was wrapped in gauze and otherwise accompanied only by his personal rosary.”

The buzzing returns with heady tension as the Father reads it, and Doctor Price feels uneasy since he can’t seem to get a proper read on Joseph’s reaction.

Finally, Joseph refolds the paper and tucks it into the pocket of his vest before he moves to Arnold’s bedside, taking the resting man’s hand in his own. “They’re not one of us.” Price only nods, knowing that even though Joseph isn’t looking at him he senses the response.

“Do you think the Resistance have gained some mercy, Father?”

“Anything is possible, my child. We can have faith that the Resistance will come to their senses one person at a time.” He gently caressed the back of Arnold’s hand, that eerie and gentle smile on his face returning until Price felt himself returning it by habit. “I have been having visions of an angel that will heal my straying children, that would nurture my flock back to health from their injuries. Now we must wake for young Arnold to awaken so he can confirm if she has finally come to us.”

 

 

 

_“Why should I help him if he’s a Peggie?”_

_“You’re not helping him directly speaking; you’re helping me help him.”_

_“I’m being fucking serious.”_

_“So am I.”_

_“We’re part of the Resistance, you know what that means? It means we resist. Even if you’re ‘new’ round these parts you’ve got to know we can’t help them in any way possible.”_

_“Yeah, I get that. Listen, I agree the Peggies and all this Eden’s Gate Fuckshit is terrible, I don’t’ need to be around long to have seen that what they’re doing is monstrous. But Jesus, Clark, they’re still human. This guy’s probably got a family.”_

_“I’ve got a fucking family too, Murphy! And his people are trying to kill them!”_

_“Listen, alright? I get it. But I’m going to help this guy whether you will or not. When I went to school for this shit I made an oath to help everyone, and I… I won’t be able to sleep at night if I know I just left him to die.”_

 

_“Fuck, he’s waking up. Just hand me the sedatives and you can go, I can handle this one by myself.”_

 

 

Slowly, surely, the yellow bleeding lights seep through Arnold’s eyelids as a sort of painful numbness electrifies his limbs. There’s a steady pressure on his left hand, a slight rubbing sensation over his knuckles as he groans and feels consciousness return in dragging moments of painful heartbeats in his head and throat.

Doctor Price is quick to his patient’s aid, knowing full well that the intentions of the Father for bringing such a low-ranking Eden’s Gate follower to his personal medical bunker was for alternative purposes than outright selflessness. Price didn’t deign to think it as selfish reasoning either, but he was sure if the Father didn’t expect some sort of turnout of information to benefit the Project, than Arnold would be bereft of the amenities present.

“Here,” Price prompted gently, “You need to drink.” Almost blindly, Arnold’s lips cusped around the lip of the chilled glass and began taking long pulls of water to quench his no doubt dry throat. Price eased the drink back slowly as Arnold’s eyes opened more. “Easy now, don’t want you getting sick as well.”

“I’m alright then? I’m… I mean, I’m going to be fine?” His voice was dry and cracking from disuse, but the water had helped ease it and he didn’t appear to be in much pain.

“You’re going to be fine, my child,” Joseph’s hands came up to cup Arnold’s face, and like a magnet all of the young man’s attention snapped to Joseph’s face, his own melting into one of awe when he realized who was holding him so dearly. “How are you feeling, son?”

“Father,” his hands weakly raised, as if he wanted to feel for certain if the prophet himself had come to his bedside. “You bless me with your presence, thank you.”

“I am in need of your help, my child, and you are the only one who can offer it to me.”

A shuddering inhale wracked Arnold’s body to near pain, but his eyes glowed with admiration. “Anything, Father,” his tongue rolled around heavily in his mouth. Arnold was brought to near tears at the thought that he, a _sinner_ , could help the Father. “Anything for you, Father.”

Joseph held the boy in a tight gaze, for a small lapse of time nothing happening as he smiled kindly at the boy before turning to the others. “I must request then that this just be a meeting between young Arnold and I, like a confession I would like some of this information to remain private at first,” he turned around to Arnold, hand caressing the boys face. “But only if Arnold is comfortable and healthy enough to do so, that is.”

Even though Joseph’s voice was soft and smooth like honey, inviting and requesting it demanded only one answer. “Of course, father. I am here at your will.”

“Thank you. I will be done in just a few minutes doctor, then he is all yours.” Joseph smiled kindly at them, though his words broached no refusal despite the softness.

“Of course, Father. Thank you, father,” Doctor Price left, not sure what he was saying ‘thank you’ for.

The woman, far more confident in her appraisal, wrapped her arms around the father awkwardly before whispering, “Praise be with you, Father,” and fleeing the room.

Now Joseph turned back to Arnold, who’s gaze loyally returned to the green-tinted eyes staring back at him, blue behind the yellow shades resting on the bridge of his nose. “I have some questions for you about the person who brought you back to my guidance, without them Doctor Price says you may have been pulled permanently from my light. With your help, we can repay this debt of saving your life with grace and perhaps even welcome them into our flock.”

The hand drifting up and down Arnold’s face dazed him, lulling him into security as he looked up at the Father. “Anything, anything at all father and I will tell it to you. What do you want to know?”

“Everything, son,” his gaze darkened, swirling like an impending storm. “I want to know everything.”

 

 

 

_“Hey, buddy – how you feeling?”_

_“Wh…where am I?”_

_“Hey, no – not a good idea, you probably don’t want to try and move right now. Just lay back down, OK? I’ll have you stitched back up in no time.”_

_“When… was… is it Sunday still?”_

_“No, its Monday now. Woah, what’re you - ?! No, stop moving. I said **stop**!”_

_“I can’t, no! I can’t miss a mass, the Father – he - ! I can’t miss it!”_

_“Hey, calm down. Listen to me, alright? Father, uh, your Father will understand, alright? He understands you’re injured, he won’t punish you for this. You’re going to be fine, I promise.”_

_"You can't be certain, I can't miss, I can't -"_

_"Listen to me - he will forgive you. The Father understands that right now you're healing. I need you to lay still, or else you won't be able to return at all."_

_“Are you sure I will be forgiven?”_

_“I promise. Just trust me.”_

 

_“Are you an angel?”_

_“Ha, that’s funny. …that was supposed to be a joke, right?”_

_“You’re Resistance, aren’t you? You must be some sort of angel to help me. An angel of Mercy.”_

_"I'm no angel. I'm not going to mother you, either; I need you to try and sit as still as possible while I do this. It's going to hurt."_

 

 

_Mother...._

_m o t h e r_

 

 

“…There was a glow around her, Father, I’m certain of it! She was holding me so gently, assuring me you would forgive me for missing mass because otherwise I would be lost to the world. And I trusted her... I trusted her! I knew she was Resistance, but she whispered to me so gently, and I was sure then that she must be some sort of angel sent to save my soul.” He smiled sweetly, a tear falling from his eye to roll down the pale plane of his cheek. “I told her about my wedding, how in two short weeks God would recognize my love for my darling and that our union would be recognized in his golden light. I… I even asked that she come celebrate with us… it seems so silly now, but I… I couldn’t help myself, Father. She seemed so kind to me, kind and warm and loving like a mother should.” Joseph jolted at the words. Arnold noticed, and in a shock of fear his hand came up to Joseph’s own, palm clutching over the prophet’s that still rested on his own face as a pleading lilt jolted his voice. “Have I sinned grievously, Father? Have I put my faith in a false-angel?”

_Mother._

A heaviness bubbled in Joseph's head, dreams of previous nights coming back in drowning waves of clarity that he felt almost as if he was drowning in them. A faint voice, the touch of a warm palm and then it all slowly drifting away. Joseph felt the claws of Wrath grip tightly on him as the mirage faded and the cloud hung once more in his mind so that he could no longer feel the hand or hear the voice. They were being taken from him, taken _away_. So much Wrath stemmed into his chest that his own fingers noticeably contracted on Arnold’s face for a moment lingering on too long. Arnold, entranced, flinched at the suddenness and assumed it was his own fault. Sobs began collecting in his throat, but just as soon as the lapse had begun Joseph recovered and gently began to stroke Arnold’s face once more.

“Hush, my child, for you have done no wrong,” he wiped the tears from Arnold’s eyes, thumbs gently pulling the drops away on the pads of calloused finger tips. “In fact you have brought great news to me, what you have done will benefit the Project exponentially.”

“I feared that I believed in something that didn’t exist. That I’d made it all up.”

“Sometimes it is the burden of seeing that allows for the rest of us to glimpse, but know you are not alone. You have witnessed an act of God, survived, and lived to tell the tale. Now this angel has revealed herself, and she will take her rightful place.”

_m o t h e r._

The pure passion laced in Joseph’s voice had Arnold trembling, in awe and fear at the power he was witnessing all by himself. “What will her place be, Father?”

Almost as if breaking out of a trance, Joseph looked back down at Arnold and smiled, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on his forehead. “That is not for you to worry about, my child,” his hand reached for a vial in his pocket, green powder spraying as he coaxed the wisps over Arnold’s face with a swift gust from his lips. When the green settled it seeped into his eyes, swirling green in contentment. “Sleep, now.” He placed another kiss on the man’s forehead, “You have found Eden’s Gate their Mother.”

 

 

 

_“Did you hear that B-S? He tried to call me an angel.”_

_“It’s all that bliss shit those Peggies obsess over, don’t let it go to your head, Murphy.”_

_“Wasn’t planning on it. Now help me drop him off, will you? Guy’s heavier than he looks.”_

_“So we’re just gonna leave him here?”_

_“You want to hand deliver him to them? It’s not like we can Uber him over there.”_

_“There's no point in saving him if you're leaving him here for the bears."  
_

_“You didn’t even want me to help him in the first place. But if it eases your conscience, I was planning on leaving a note.”_

_“There's nothing you can do to clean my conscious after helping one of those cultist fuckers. God, I need to wash my hands."  
_

_“Just hand me a pen and some paper. There's hand sanitizer back in the car, you big baby."  
_

 

**_Might want to change his stitches soon, got the bullet out but struggled with calming him down (he’s scared he’ll be in trouble for missing church, I told him God/Joseph would forgive him, sorry if I overstepped boundaries). He invited me to his wedding, but he was also really doped up so I didn’t take it at face value; either way, tell him congrats._ **

**_x M_ **

 

_“Murph, not gonna lie, that is the dumbest shit I’ve ever read. Did you read what you wrote?”_

_“Yeah, course I did. I’m the one who wrote it. I just… I don't know how this cult shit works. I got nervous.”_

_“Didn’t think it was possible to ramble on paper.”_

_“Just drive, asshole. We won’t be able to get to Fall’s End before nightfall if you don’t shut your trap.”_

_"Well, fuck - we could've left earlier if you hadn't written the little fucker a note. Honestly, you shouldn't have written it in the first place. Who gives a fuck what happens to that poor sap, now? You shouldn't have even saved him."_

_"You keep telling me that. I'm still not listening."_


	2. Bar Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark is PMSing and Murphy is already stressed. Mary May makes her feel better but also worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double posting bc I can. Sorry these chapters are so short I promise they get longer. Ch3 is cooking.

 

Mary May Fairgrave was waiting for them at the doors of Spread Eagle, neon lights off but the dim bud of a lit cigarette illuminating her face enough to see a Budweiser in her hand. It was about midnight now, Clark had to stop for gas and was later halted by a Peggie roadblock due to the blood on the front bumper. He’d explained that it was from hitting a dear and even showed a carcass sitting in the bed of the truck. Its head had been bludgeoned by the front bumper, but Clark had insisted it was still good meat even if it had been massacred.

Alternatively Murphy was sitting in the front seat silently, making sure that the bindings of the Book of Joseph was obvious for all to see even though she’d just hidden a thriller novella inside. Thankfully, no one had noticed.

“Took y’all long enough, did you take a spa day?” Mary May jabbed kindly, ash falling off the tip of her cigarette. She rarely smoked besides when she was exceptionally antsy. “I expected you back closer to ten or so.”

“Murphy had a play-date with the Peggies,” Clark said, obviously aggravated as he climbed out of his pick-up and slammed the door shut.

Murphy stumbled a bit from the passenger side, a combination of shock and fatigue wrestling control from her limbs, “Wh – no I did not.” She stuttered in defense, “If anything you did!”

“Yeah? I did?”

“The roadblock - that was your fault, not mine.”

“Well we wouldn’t’ve been caught up if you hadn’t insisted on helping that Peggie.”

“Shut up, you two.” Mary May stubbed out her cigarette, even though it looked like she’d only gotten four or five good drags from it. “If you want to organize another Peggie Play-date keep on bickering where they can hear us, or you can get inside before you blow our cover.”

Late as it was, there were still some lingering Peggie guards floating around. They’d taken Fall’s End weeks ago, but they had yet to scour the man they’d done it for – Pastor Jerome. At night the men tapered off. Most went home to their families, but the rest were still armed to the teeth and blindingly obvious in their dusty-white shirts.

Clark grumbled something as he walked inside, stomping angrily like a child. Murphy watched, eyes tired. When he disappeared inside she grumbled, “I need a drink.”

“The cases are dwindling, but we’ve got Coors Light, Pabst Blue Ribbon, and your favorite: Budweiser.” She lifted the red and silver can, the left-over contents sloshing inside.

Murphy made a disgruntled noise, like a scoff or a groan, “I’ll stick with a Coke. You guys have that, right?” She made to move past Mary May and inside, but her hand shot up and blocked the frame.

“Mhm, but wait, give me a sec,” She licked her lips, head tilting down to appraise Murphy even though she was taller than herself. Mar May hummed again, chugging the rest of the Budweiser before tossing it behind her and into a can with expertise only familiarity could breed. “Is what Clark said true? You helped a Peggie?”

“Yeah, I did.” Murphy licked her lips, sniffing a bit. “He was bleeding out, so I stitched him back up and left him on the side of the road by a Peggie station.”

“Where?”

“Edge of Holland Valley, closer to the islands than the Whitetail Mountains.”

Mary May hummed again, this time Murphy felt compelled to look over her shoulder to see if the Neon sign had turned back on even though no light came. Instead she shuffled awkwardly, unable to see Mary May’s face and hoping the bartender couldn’t make out any distinct anxiousness on Murphy’s own face.

“Just gotta, hum, now – really - why would you go around doing a thing like that?”

Murphy didn’t like having to explain herself to anyone, friend or not. “What else should I have done, put a bullet in his head?”

“That’s what a Peggie would’ve done if they found you bleeding out upon finding you were Resistance. Maybe they woulda tortured you or converted you to their daily bullshit about the world ending.”

“Well I’m not a fucking Peggie, am I?” Murphy snapped, feeling the hot sting of tears sap at her eyes. The watery lilt she despised entered her voice, but she shook it back down with her trembling fingers pinching at her thighs. “Jesus Christ. I went to seven years of school to help people, I wasn’t… I wasn’t good enough to finish, but I’m good enough to know that leaving someone to bleed out on the side of the road when I _know_ I can help would tear me apart.”

“Did Clark help?”

“Ha, no. He’d rather give his left limb than help a Peggie.”

“That’s why he’s Resistance.”

Murphy balked, “What is that supposed to mean? I’m loyal to the Resistance.”

“No one in the Resistance I know would willingly help a Peggie, not without a gun to their head. Some wouldn’t even do it then.”

Her throat felt tighter, “Just because I helped one Peggie doesn’t mean I fucking believe in whatever it is they believe in.”

“I never said you did believe in that, Murph. I certainly don’t think you do, but some of the Resistance won’t share my thoughts.” Mary May didn’t say anything for a long while and Murphy gripped the fabric at her thighs tighter. There was a rustle and Mary May’s arms braced over her chest, “These are simple people and they think plainly. To them you’re either with us or you’re against us. You help them then you’re with them, you help us then you’re with us. Simple as that.”

“I do help the Resistance, though. I’d choose the good cause in the end, but I feel like I’ve got to help everyone I can if I can.”

“So you’ll help more Peggies if the opportunity arises in the future?” Murphy could feel Mary May’s stare weighing down on her, but even though she didn’t look away she didn’t offer a response. Her silence was answer enough. “Thought so,” Mary May sighed, exasperated. “Can’t help complicating things, can you?”

Murphy shrugged dejectedly before also sighing. “It’s accidental, I promise. I wouldn’t want things to be this complicated. I mean, _God_ \- If I’d have known Hope County was like this I wouldn’t have come back, probably would’ve holed myself away anywhere there wasn’t a looming threat of being shot or brainwashed on the daily.” Murphy looked to Mary May, who hadn’t probably even thought of moving away from her home town besides as a fleeting, laughable fancy. “Uh, no offense.”

“Just don’t let Grace hear you. Or Jess. Or just about anyone, really. I’d keep all of this… whatever this shit is… between you, me, the Pastor, and God himself.”

Mary May nodded towards the door, signaling for Murphy to enter. The med-student shook her head even though Mary May probably couldn’t see the movement, then toed the dirt when she realized she still had Mary May’s attention. “What about Clark?”

The door was open, light leaking out as Mary May’s toe kept the door open. Her hands were on her hips and she sounded slightly chastising, “What about him?”

“I don’t want him to be mad at me. I mean,” she took a deep breath, the hot feeling of tears returning. “…I understand why he’s mad, but I’ll need him if… it happens again in the future and… this isn’t something I can do alone.” She scratched her nose and sniffed, hoping to hide the tears away from Mary May and the remaining darkness that held her face silent. “He’s one of my good friends; he’s one of the only people who knows I’ve returned, and I don’t think I can lose him right now.” Murphy thought hard, _not while I don’t have anyone else._

“Murph, you know how Clark gets. He’s a hothead. He’s a bitch and a baby and a man all in one. Sometimes he might not like what you do, hell – he probably hates what you did earlier, but he does care about you.” The insecurity with that statement must’ve passed wordlessly between them, because Mary May gave a short scoff that could’ve passed for a rough chuckle. “Geez, kid, he wouldn’t be following you around like a lost puppy if he didn’t like you. Just let him be for tonight, and hopefully he’ll have his boots on straight by morning.”

“I hope so. Doctor Lindsey contacted us, wants me to talk with him about organizing some studies for an Antabuse synonym to weaken the effects of the Bliss. Clark was supposed to come.”

Mary May’s brash laugh took Murphy by surprise, “Two of the most awkward, yet skilled doctors Hope County has seen together in the same room. That’d be a sight.”

Murphy wasn’t a doctor. She hadn’t done any residency or even completed her final year of med school, but she wouldn’t correct Mary May. Usually the response she got to the protest that she wasn’t a licensed doctor was, ‘Can you stitch me up? You’re the closest thing we’ve got to a doctor then, doc’. Sharky Boshaw had even told her that he didn’t have a license as a human barbeque specialist, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. Murphy wouldn’t tell him that the situations weren’t remotely similar, because he was technically an arsonist and a murderer.

“Murph?”

Mary May’s voice yanked her back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, just know at some point you might have to choose one side over the other. I won’t make you, but someone else might if Clark doesn’t first. It’ll happen no matter what, eventually. They won’t be so nice as me, and then…” she opened the door further, the slack expression on her face etching itself into Murphy’s memory. “I just hope you make the right decision.”

The lump in her throat tightened dangerously, it felt heavy with humidity out here despite the cool winds of night whipping around. Murphy felt like she might be sick as her gut rolled dangerously. She wanted to say something, assure Mary May that she would choose the right side and it would undoubtedly be the Resistance. She didn’t believe in what the Peggies put their faith in and invested less in their methods. Her ideals aligned with the Resistance even if they could match brute force neck to neck with Eden’s Gate out of desperation to survive, but Murphy wasn’t judge jury and executioner. Life and death wasn’t her call to make.

She wanted to speak. The words swam in her head, about to jump from her throat in a powerful declaration that she was Resistance before all else.

“C’mon, let’s get inside and get you that Coke before they start missing us. William’s probably broken out the Buds even though I told him not to.”

No words made it past her mouth. Mutely she followed Mary May inside.


End file.
